“Look, look!” said M. Jean Baptiste, the moment it was possible to see.
“Look! Where?” said I.
“There—on the President’s chair, between two candles! Do you see any one?”
“Oh, M. Drouet!” said I, trembling.
“Well, what do you say?” asked he.
“I say that it is not a man whom you point out to me.”
“What is he, then?”
“A monster!”
“Good! Look at him for some length of time, and you will get accustomed to his face, all hideous as it is.”
That man was M. Danton.